


Faith - McEthan

by AceDhampir



Category: Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceDhampir/pseuds/AceDhampir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ethan accidentally his Mick and gives the other a concussion, things get awkward. This is a co written piece</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith - McEthan

The fireworks set off just as Ethan said they would, and the neighborhood kids are in trouble again. The vacation was long and very needed. The return home was an exhausting flight, to be sure, but both men have no reason to be unhappy about that fact. The fireworks show lasts about five minutes before incoming sirens have them scattering. Ethan snickers in good humor and gathers up the remnants of their meal, courtesy of the Golden Koi. He offers a hand to Mick, but before the other can stand he gives him a little kiss to the forehead.

"Told you there'd be a show tonight. Ready to go inside? It's getting cold."

"Yeah, could use a few 'ours infront of the space 'eater," that's an understatement. You'd think a man with as much body hair as he had would manage to find some way to keep himself warm. Then again, he's still slightly suffering from whatever he came down with in Germany. Mick's never good when it comes to being sick. Still, he takes the hand that's offered and helps gather the trash from the roof of the building. "Exhausted."

He's always wanting sleep. Prying open the door to the roof, he lets Ethan lead the way and follows closely, mostly to get what warmth he can off the shorter man. Like a leech, he was.

Ethan is used to Mick leeching his head, laying on him, and using him as a body pillow. If he minded, he would have said something ages ago. Once back down in their apartment, Ethan takes care of the trash and then heads for the bedroom, kicking his shoes off. His shirt follows, tossed neatly in the hamper. Now he's down to sweatpants and socks, and he's damn well staying that way for quite some time.

"I'm not quite ready to sleep yet. I'm gonna get something to drink. I'll be there in a few. Start getting the bed warm, will you?" Teasing, as always. He turns his back and moves out of the bedroom to the kitchen.

"S'all I'm good for innit?" he's excited he gets the bed first. He doesn't really feel like stripping off his layers, mostly because he knows damn well he's going to freeze if he gets as bare as Ethan. Instead he just loses the hoodie and heads to the bathroom to douse his face. 

"Think we'll need the space 'eater?" he called out, inishing his nightly rituals. Probably, knowing him. But he's never been with Ethan in winter, and it's easy to assume he heats a lot faster than Mick. Maybe he should just slide back on the hoodie. "E?"

Ethan was midway through the process of rising to his toes to grab a glass from a slightly too-high shelf when it happens. A twinge of pain is followed by a lock, and a failure of muscle and bone. The glass drops. It doesn't break- it's thick and the fall wasn't too bad, and it also bounced off of him before striking the counter and rolling on its side to hit the wall. His arm falls limply at his side as searing pain radiates through him. He can't even voice it the pain is so paralyzing. He doubles over, feeling the strength leave his knees. He curls up with his good arm wrapped across his stomach, forehead to the floor, and knees tucked up under his chest until the pain passes.

It's then the panic sets in. A hot wave of fear and shame flood him, and in that moment his worst fears come true. Useless. Outdated. Getting worse. More pain, every day. Pain, pain, pain until he dies. Nobody will fix him, either. Nobody will help him. He struggles to try and stand, but it's not happening. There's a thud, but no verbal reply to Mick.

His pulse races. Now a panic attack is setting in. He blindly throws an arm up to grip the counter, yanking himself to his feet for a moment before he falls again. His ankles have lost their strength.

Alright, either he's being ignored or that's a damn good glass of water. He's seconds away from deciding for him before he hears some noise from the kitchen, and it takes Mick a second to register what the fuck it could be. He probably dropped something, or he slipped. Simple explainations.

Ethan's a cyborg. A fall shouldn't happen.

Concern gets him moving from the room, he just wants to be sure. Though he's not expecting Ethan on the floor panicking. It takes him a few seconds to process what's happened. This is the guy who can land like a cat jumping off their roof. What the hell happened?

"Aw Christ," he's thrashing around a lot, isn't he? Something's wrong. It's starting to freak Mick out. He reaches out, trying to see if he can figure some way to help. "E?"

Ethan lets out a choked grunt in reply. It's about all he can get. He's hyperventilating and not even noticing it, and touching him isn't going to be a smart idea. The arm moving towards him gets a sharp smack, a warning to stay away. He can't help the hot tears welling from his eyes, and he can't stop the anger welling within him. With a curse in what must be German he's staggering to his feet, finding the strength again.

His eyes are dilated and dim, the green faded. His sight isn't very good right now, either. What the fuck is wrong with him?  
Simple. It's a breakdown.

They're going to happen for the rest of his life, and they're only going to get worse and more frequent.

Today is the first.

Shit, he's taken courses in how to handle seizures. Was this a seizure? He wasn't a fucking paramedic. He  ~~very stupidly~~  ignores the warning smack, more focused on trying to stabilize Ethan than anything.

"Ethan?" skipping the nickname means he's freaking out as well.  "come on love."

He's only trying to help. Hell, he's not a cyborg, and Ethan's not giving him verbal clues as to what's wrong. he's just going off the instinct that his partner is hurt and that he has to help somehow. Ethan did say not to call an ambulance when things like this happened.

The second his hand reaches Ethan's cheek, he's probably going to end up getting a serious blow. All he can do is call his name and try and bring him out of it.

Ethan reacts instantly. His hands fly out with incredible strength, shoving mick so hard that he's almost thrown back into the counter's edge, to strike either his back or his head. It's reflex, and it's him not knowing his own strength at the present moment. He's reacting on base instinct alone, and it's obvious that all it took was the touch to set him off.

Ethan doesn't realize Mick's gone down for a moment, but the instant he does a strangled gasp of pained surprise echoes from his throat. Forgetting his own condition and pain, he's down on hands and knees, crawling towards Mick with concern across his face.

"M...Mick? Mick, I'm...oh my God. Oh my God. I'm so sorry. Mick?...Mick, Spätzchen, PLEASE." _Don't be dead don't be dead oh god please don't be dead oh my god oh my god_ **OH MY GOD**

He's not dead. That's for certain.

It takes a moment before there's a sharp intake of air, apparently the impact startled him and got him a bit winded. That's about the only movement he makes besides an occasional twitch. He's out like a light, and when he wakes he's probably going to have a wicked headache. For now he just feels like he's floating. Which feels nice, really. 

He barely hears a voice and is electing to ignore it because of the pain. Sleeping is...nice. He can't move and beyond that he can't think really. Everything's too foggy. 

Hot tears are running down his face. This is his fault. He did this. He lashed out and he did this. With a broken sob, he suppresses his shaking and stares at Mick, unsure what to do. He should call an ambulance. They can help. But he'd have to declare what happened. Admit to domestic violence. Go to jail. Be found out for what he is. Have it be denied. Live the rest of his life apart from Mick, in a cell somewhere, probably a military base. Or, be put down and have the cybernetics reclaimed.

It's a selfish decision, but he elects not to call. At least, not yet. He doesn't know WHAT to do, though. Fearing a concussion, he doesn't move Mick. He scrambles to get Tylenol, knowing it to be the only safe drug. Ice. He needs ice. He can't find any. He gets a damp rag and cools it in the freezer for a moment before laying it on Mick's forehead. He just..stays there, on his knees, feeling sick and horrific.

"I'm sorry. I"m so sorry. Es tut mir leid. Bitte verzeihen Sie mir. Bitte..."

Christ that's loud. He wants to tell whoever is talking to shut up.

Once air starts filling his lungs again is when he's able to hear. Something's cold and he doesn't like it, just causes him to shiver. He's cold and whatever's on him isn't making it easier. How do you speak again? He's trying but all he can do right now is mumble, his brain is still struggling to make sense of what's just happened. First thing is panic. Why is he so damn cold? Where the fuck is he?

Th panic attack starts a bit of weak and pathetic thrashing before bits start coming back... _Meical...thirty-five...no, thirty four...thirty four...Parent;'s dead...Deadly with a rifle....Jenna is important. Ethan is important. Eye colour...sheep shit brown..._ ffwcio y defaid _...Welsh still works._ Good. Memory's good. Most of it anyway.

A hand hits a knee and he's awkwardly gripping like he's trying to stabilize himself, there's no ambulance sounds so he's probably not in danger of being poked and prodded. He hates hospitals anyway, being stuck in one place drives him mad.

The main problem is once he finally forces his eyes open, more panic sets in. He can't see. _He can't fucking see_. If he wasn't so groggy he's be losing his head. For now all he can do is struggle to stay awake. There's another few moments of clarity in his head before it just shuts down. He's forcing himself, which is causing a bit more damage than he needs. At least he's breathing.

There's some pleading and begging in German, some quiet crying, and a hand abruptly squeezing Mick's. Ethan is a wreck. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, Mick. I didn't know what I was- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do. Please just rest. I'm so, so sorry. I pushed you. It's my fault. Let me help you. Please just rest. Don't move." He doesn't know what else to say, and so he keeps repeating himself.

He's a wreck. He hasn't moved since Mick went down.

It probably takes another ten minutes to regain consciousness again, or at east some of it. Mick feels like he's going to toss again. Still no light coming into his eyes, but he's not feeling like panicking about that. He can hear Ethan, and really he can't remember what's happened, he's not understanding why the apologies. 

"Fuck me sideways," there he is. His voice is barely there, and if Ethan wasn't listening, he probably wouldn't hear it. Least words are coming out. He wants to move, and he's trying to do so because fuck the cold tile floor and fuck having to lay on it. Movement just makes him sicker. If Ethan's not careful he'll end up tossing on him. 

"Ethan?" Bit louder than time, still barely audible but there.

"Yeah? Hi. Yeah, I'm here." Ethan reaches over to gently squeeze Mick's hand again in reassurance. It's almost like he figured out the other can't see straight...or at all. "Mick, this is my fault. It's completely my fault. I can call an ambulance, get you help. If that's what you want. And then I can...I can go. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you, and I..." Ethan is heartbroken, clearly, and he's blaming- rightfully- himself.

"Mick, love, I...I fucked up. I fucked up and I hurt you and..." He can't find his words again, so it seems. He's definitely close to tears again, and he thought he'd cried himself dry already.

"Stop...talkin' so much," his eyes are narrowed, but they're going wild searching for  _something_. Focusing is hard, whatever he manages to hear it's in bits and pieces. It hurts to hear, for one thing, and apparently he's staring straight into a light because his headache is worse. Hurts to move his head though. Fuck being so weak.

"S'not your fault love," the generic Mick line for "this happens to everyone and I knew what I signed up for and I just wanted to help", though he couldn't remember for the life of him what he was helping. Good news is, he can't remember what happened, but for Ethan that might be a problem, knowing how guilty he feels. Christ, his head hurts. "Don't call anyone. Please for the love of God. Needles and tubes aren't my thing."

Least his sense of humor is in tact. "Don't leave. I think I can't see," it's taking a lot of willpower to keep from freaking out. Being blind means he's useless, and there's no telling if it's temporary or what. Ethan leaves he's fucked. Apparently this is Ethan's fault, Mick just figured he slipped...though he could have sworn he was in the bedroom when he woke up. The bathroom? Talking's getting easier, but every though just fucking hurts. If he can't see, he can't work. What's the point of a blind sniper? Seems he's more concerned over that then Ethan accidentally hurting him. "Fuck my 'ead."

"Okay. Okay, I won't call." Ethan is panicking, and that much is clear. He doesn't even realize he's hyperventilating, but he's on the verge of a panic attack and he doesn't know how to stop it. "Please don't move. I know you're not supposed to move. I've never had a concussion before but you hit right at the optical lobe of your head. You hit HARD. On the counter's edge. I checked- you're not bleeding anymore. You didn't bleed much to begin with. Just...keep talking to me."   
it's helping them both stay centered at this rate. Ethan sits close by, unmoving. He's horrified and already planning to get Mick back to a safe status and get out before he hurts the man again. "I hate this. I need to move," he's shivering, both because he's fucking cold and also because he's in shock. He's scrambling to move and he can't even ground himself without feeling sick. But if he's forced down he's going to try to fight it so he can just _move_. 

He's still blindly reaching and occasionally he gets a touch of Ethan, he can hear him freaking out and really that's all he can do to comfort him. 

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck," yup, he's starting to get sick from the little movements he's made. "Fucking cold."

He's frustrated with himself, mostly because he's a man and how dare he be weak and writhing on the floor. He feels...useless. In many areas. He just needs to be stabilized. 

"No, no, no." Ethan holds Mick down, and there's no way Mick can get away from that grip without actually hurting the cyborg somehow. He's heavy, strong, and good at stopping people in their tracks. He's taken on bigger men, too, after all. "Rest. Please." The cool cloth is pushed back into place. "I'm not going anywhere." Ethan forces his own panic down to help stabilize Mick as best as he can, now remaining there with hands on the other man's shoulders. It's the safest way to prohibit motion at this point.

"If you rest I'll do all the dishes for a month without complaining." That's...a pretty sweet deal. "And clean the bathroom." Oh. Hot damn.

"Fine," he snaps, not exactly meaning to be agitated, but he's still trying to process what's happened. "Sorry."

That didn't sound like he was. But his anger is reasonable, and it's more directed at himself. He's a rocket of emotions right now. "Least get me warm? Blanket or turn on the fucking 'eater or _somethin'_ , please. It'll stop the shock, whiskey too maybe. Promise I wont move."

He's probably lying. Okay, he **is** lying. If Ethan moves he's going to try and move somewhere. He's stiff and uncomfortable and having no idea what's happened is starting to freak him out a bit. Oh, and he can't see, which happens to be a deep seeded phobia, but he's more focused on trying to orient himself. 

Ethan doesn't have a shirt on, so it isn't like he has that or a jacket or hoodie to give to Mick. He knows better than to move, though. He's got his body heat, and that's about it. He carefully just moves to be beside mick, on his right side. He faces the other and keeps Mick trapped between him and the wall. He then scoots to press against the man, offering what he can. It isn't much, but he doesn't dare move right now. He wishes he could make Mick more comfortable, but right now it isn't safe no matter how hard the surface they're on is.

"This is all my fucking fault. Mick, I'm so sorry. That was inexcusable."

Aw damn.

Least he was warmer, Ethan's left him cold a bit too long, but the shivering is starting to stop. He's not fidgeting at least.

"I 'ave no idea what you're goin' on about," oh good, he's falling out of it again. Means he's comfortable, means Ethan's made a good choice. There's a wild hand, blindly searching for something until he finds what he thinks is Ethan's face, giving whatever he was touching a weak but gentle pat. "You did somethin'? S'not a problem," the words are slurred, and if Ethan wasn't so trained on his accent by now it'd be too thick to understand. He's about to pass out, mostly from already being tired, but his headache is starting to be too much. "S'not. A. Problem. S'okay. S'alright E."

Jesus, he's not doing too well is he? Warmer now, he just wants to sleep.

"Hey. Stay with me for a little longer. We need to watch the swelling. What year is it? And what's my full name? What city do we live in?" He hopes Mick can cut the fog somewhat, find order to his thoughts. He thinks that's probably important, probably a good sign if it occurs.  
"Mick, I'm really sorry. I pushed you. I shouldn't have. I was panicking and...that doesn't even matter. I fucked up. There's no excuse. I just want to help you but I don't know what to do." "Aurag, Christ. Twenty fourteen. Ethan "wont shut up" Krieg. Detroit, the bane of my existence," least his cognition is in tact. Though he's still slurring.

He's fighting to stay awake, but he's having a hard time believing Ethan would ever hurt him. Maybe he should just humor him for now. "Pushed me? That what 'appened?" He's apparently still processing. "It's alright, Ethan. Not your fault, okay? I mean it. We'll work around it."

He's convinced he fell. Had to have fallen. But then Ethan wouldn't be so guilty if it was an accident, would he? Oh God.

He's too tired to deal with it now. 

"Let me rest. Thinking hurts." Everything hurts.

"Okay." Ethan doesn't see any reason to push the issue further. If anything, he should listen to Mick and just obey the request right now. He owes the man that much. With a disheartened and crestfallen expression, he remains curled up next to Mick in silence, unsure of what his next move should be. He's not going to sleep a wink. He's watching the other, terrified that he's blinded him and terrified he'll still lose him. Sleep was good. Sleep made everything better.

The morning, however, is a completely different story. Opening his eyes, he's confused for a few moments. or a second, he has no idea where he is, nor can he remember anything past leaving the roof the night before.

Oh God.

Nearly shocked out of tiredness Mick slips from Ethan's side, scrambling off the floor and blindly flailing for something to grab. He's clearly panicking, and the shock still isn't completely settled. 

"Ethan?" he's the only thing he can think of that can fix this. "I can't-"

The fast movements and the way he's panicking has him feeling around for the sink before he lifts himself up and loses what little he even has in his stomach. Shaky legs keep him up but he's obviously doing better, minus his loss of vision. The concussion is probably going to knock him off balance for a few days.

Ethan shifts, having dozed somewhat, and when Mick moves he kicks him faintly in the ribs. That wakes him from his stupor. He forces himself up, groggy and exhausted, but he manages to grab Mick's arm and shoulder to steady him once he's thrown up. "Come on, let's get you to bed. Safer there. I'll get you something to drink, food? A trash can?..." He doesn't want to say anything about the vision. He's terrified to, even though he knows he has to take responsibility.

His grip is gentle but firm enough, urging Mick to walk with him.

In his panic he tears away, he can hear Ethan but he really has no clue what's happening. He's not meaning to, but can you blame him? He's scared as shit and really even Ethan's gentleness isn't calming him down.

"Jesus Christ. Jus' don't touch me, not yet," oh no. Don't do that Mick. His eyes are going wild and he's trying to at least try and find something to focus on. Headaches are coming back, and on top of being afraid of losing what he has he's just trying to orient himself for a second. "Where is this?"

Last thing he needs is to hear hospital. But in apology he reaches out, looking for some part of Ethan to touch. Least he's here, that makes it a bit easier.

"We're at home. You're in the kitchen over the sink. You hit your head on the counter. It's my fault." He doesn't say he pushed Mick. Not yet, anyway. He's feeling sick enough already. "We should move so you can at least sit. If not bed, would you want the couch? Maybe the armchair?" He's being as gentle as he can be, keeping his voice low. It's notable he's more or less cowering at Mick's words, though. He definitely did something, and he feels more than vaguely guilty about it.

"You hit the back of your head, where the occipital lobe is. You can't see right now. It should come back."

The explanation calms him, and a few deep breaths later he's focusing and his grip on the counter top is loosening. 

"Okay. Jus' take me somewhere. Can't stand."

He's serious about that, it's a few stumbles forward before he grabs at Ethan, using the cyborg to stand. He's wanting to be sick again but he's got nothing in him, and that just causes pain. Ethan's low voice keeps him grounded at least.

"Feel didn't I? Fuck," he thinks it's his fault. He's used to doing something stupid and fucking himself up. "Take me to the bedroom. I need a minute."

Ethan easily supports Mick the short distance to the bedroom. He helps the other sit on the edge of the bed and doesn't move away until Mick has successfully ended up on his back. He rushes to get a small, grocery-bag lined trashcan, a camelback waterbottle to prevent spills, and a fresh ice pack.  
"Mick, I'm so sorry. This is my fault." He wasn't in control of himself. He gave the only warning he could. He was terrified and in pain, but he still is the one that shoved Mick. The guilt eats at his throat as it pours out in words. "I fucked up. Please forgive me." Being on a softer surface than the floor is a relief. He feels a little better at least, reclining and grunting a bit when the bruise is occasionally touched as he moves his head.

"What do you mean it's your fault?" Oh...that's a bit scary. "What did you do?"

Did...did they fight? Is that what happened? They've only ought once and only then it was a misunderstanding. But physical violence...that scares him. A lot. Depending on Ethan's answer, he's either going to be understanding, scared as fuck, or really pissed off. His sight is on the line depending on the damage.And well, their relationship, probably. Ethan's always scared him. He's just never been able to admit it. 

"I...I don't..." He doesn't want to make excuses, but is it one? "Mick, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just..." He's trying, but his voice cracks off into hoarse nothing for a moment. He stands uselessly beside the bed, a mixture of shame and revulsion washing over him.  
"I was in the kitchen. Something happened. I was in pain. I don'g really...know what, but I couldn't walk. And everything was just bright and loud and then you hit the counter and went down. Mick, I..." He's borderline to crying from the sound of his voice.  
"I pushed you." "You did this," saying he's not pissed is a lie. Saying he's not understanding is a lie as well. "Fuck, E."

Eventually his heart wins over. He's pissed as hell, but he can give it to Ethan later. 

He sits up slowly, groaning and reaches out until he feels some skin and pulls, knowing better than to get Ethan more upset than he is. He's blind because of this. He's scared but there's something deep inside him that tells him that Ethan would never hurt him on purpose. Especially with how he sounds. "Come on. Sit with me."

Eventually, Mick's gonna have to stop being so soft. But really he needs Ethan now. Best he can do right now is attempt to keep him calm. And hell, last thing either of them need is to both be hysterical. Especially if Mick loses his head again, they'll both be in trouble.

Ethan hesitantly does so, sitting beside Mick in silence and being the body pillow he's used to. He's heartbroken and sad, willing to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he has to. He's still terrified that won't be enough. Losing Mick over this would be horrible. He didn't have control, but he still knows that doesn't excuse his actions. He hunches in on himself and tries to find words, but he can't. Instead, he just...rests there for a while, terrified to touch Mick for fear of hurting him again.

It takes a bit, obviously there's a lot to process. He's angry, he can't remember a majority of what went down but there was obviously an accident. But Christ he can't do it. He can't let that rage out not now at least. He's too fucking unstable, both of them are.  

There's a sigh and a bit of feeling around before Mick just does what he does and pulls the other man close. He can sense Ethan's hesitant and he has every right to be. This is mostly his fault, anyway. But Mick doesn't have the heart to make him feel like shit about it. Not yet, anyway.   

"You gonna be alright?" Wow. "Somethin' 'appened.  Said you couldn't walk. What's wrong with you then?"

There's something more important than a loss of sight apparently. Mick's hoping the gentleness is enough to hide how pissed he is. focusing on a different subject helps. 

"I don't...know. I just...the cybernetics..." Oh. They locked up. That had to be painful. He doesn't know how to explain it, and technical things about himself have never been his forte. "My nervous system just...shorted out. I just lost control and I went down. And I couldn't get up." He's explained as best as he could. He sniffs faintly and grabs at his arm in silence, not fighting being brought closer but not too keen to be the one to touch Mick right now.

"And you tried to touch me and I tried to warn you but..."

"Sometimes I forget what you are. I must 'ave panicked," forget that he's a two hundred fifty pound cyborg? Makes sense. "You didn't mean to, right? So it's not your fault. I should've...called someone of somethin', or just let you ride it out or..."

He coughs, a bit irritated he can see if Ethan's actually doing better now or not. Probably not. Guy's got a pain tolerance and is able to hide it all well. If something could have been that bad to cause that kind of reaction...Mick doesn't want to think about it. If the cybernetics shut down once, it doesn't mean it can't happen again.

"I'm sorry. This is a lot to deal with."

"Please. I'm fine. Just...let's take care of you. I'm really, really sorry, Mick. I didn't mean to push you. It's just...it's not okay. Something like that is never okay and I'm so ashamed." He really, truly is. He's caved in on himself, and now that the pain's just a distant memory he's let the weight of his situation hit him. "I don't know how to make this right. I just want to get you better. Whatever that takes." _Even if I have to leave._

 

Alright," seems like it's better to let Ethan do what he can then push it. "You said I hit the back of my 'ead right?" there's a hand that moves to check the wound, a sharp wince is made when pressures applied, but nothing more. "Probably just bruised. S'not bleedin' from what I can feel. Concussion though, that'll be 'ard to deal with. But get me Tylenol and food and I should be fine."

Seems like he's had this kind of head injury before, which helps. But he's not talking about his sight, which means he's still freaking out about it and ignoring it until he has a proper diagnoses. He feels bad, he just wants to push the issue of how it was just an accident into Ethan's thick head but he's deciding against it. And he's lost what food he had in him, so the idea of something to eat is appealing. "I might need 'elp gettin' 'round the flat. Everything you do is appreciated."

"I'm not going to feel better about what happened even when your sight comes back. I'm never going to forgive myself about this." He's made that clear. He's in agony because of what happened, and he's suffering as he tries to find a way to make up for it. Simply, there isn't one. No matter how he puts it, he won't stop feeling his fear and angry, unsettled remorse about it.

"I'll get you food. Whatever you want. I'm not going to try to cook right now but I can...get something." Hey, he's trying. "What sounds good?"

"What we always get is fine. Chinese. You know what I like," he's electing to ignore what Ethan's saying. Really because his head depends on it. "I need to get clean. Tossed on myself like a bloody child."

It's obvious he resents the handicap but he's going to have to live with it for now. "help me to the bathroom? I'd trust my knowledge of the flat but I don't wanna risk it. I just feel disgusting."

"Okay. Okay, I'll get the usual. Let's get you to the bathroom, then." He stands and makes sure Mick can get a grip on his arm and shoulder, or anything he wants to for steadying himself. Ethan moves him slowly until they've arrived. He guides Mick's hand to the counter before he backs away to get towels. He gets a washcloth soaked in water before offering it to the other to clean up.

"I'll go get you another shirt too. Just go slow. I'll wait until you're done here and back in bed before I go get food, alright?" He's concerned and he's doing the best he can.

"Yeah, yeah I'll go slow. Don't worry."

Mick's hating how sow everything is. Really his own head is going slow, but moving slow and having to be overly cautious is bugging him out. He's trying his best to keep from snapping, knowing full well what that could do to Ethan and instead of letting his anger out he just decides it's best to let it boil. 

He stinks and the smell is a bit much. He wonders how the fuck Ethan can stand being around him when he's covered in some real nasty shit. He's tempted to get in the shower but the chance of slipping is too high and he feels another whack to the back of the head wouldn't do too much good. At least he's able to scrub himself. Christ, what a mess this has become. 

Bed. Fuck. He doesn't want to rest. But instead he stumbles out, letting Ethan do as he wanted and relies on Ethan to lead him where he needs to be. At least the idea of being clean is calming.

"E? Thank you. Be a fucking mess if you weren't 'ere."

"You wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't been." He's still not letting it go. He's not looking for forgiveness, either. Unless told to shut up about it, he likely won't. He helps Mick get another shirt before letting the other get situated.

"I can't make you stay down, but I'm worried about you falling again and making the damage worse, or even permanent. So...be smart, okay? I love you. I'll be back soon." He means it, too. He hesitantly considers kissing Mick on the forehead, but he decides once more he needs to give the other his space.

He slinks out like a whipped dog and heads to get the food.

"I love you too," he's not sure if he gets that out before Ethan slips out. He means it though. Even after all that.

He debates on just...tapping his nails on the bed frame for a bit. Then there's a roll that nearly ends up in a topple until he catches himself. The flat is too quiet and it's driving him nuts. And he knows full well he shouldn't move. Fuck.

He's bored as fuck and the wait doesn't help. Not much he can do but feel for the remote and flip through channels and guess what's on. BBC is nowhere to be found so he settles and what sounds like so procedural cop drama, deciding how much he HATES procedural cops shows with how damn inaccurate they are and how dry and boring the characters are. This one seems to be about a sniper killing random targets. Ironic. 

He's just hoping Ethan gets back soon. If the guilt makes him run out, Mick doesn't know what he'd do.

Ethan returns, the door opening and closing with the use of his foot. He improvises when his arms are full.

"Hi, love. Fork or chopsticks?" At least he's asking. He's not sure what Mick wants to deal with in his current state. He arrives in the bedroom with the bags in hand and makes sure to hand mick a water bottle, the cap already loose but screwed on. He sits next to Mick and crosses his legs as he gets the food out and passes it over, making sure Mick can feel the container and know which way it's resting and how to find what he needs. He offers the desired utensils and sits back, munching on the little rice crisps that come with soup.

"Just shovel it down my throat I don't care anymore," water is welcomed with how dry his throat is. "Turn the bloody telly to something good eh? Tired of 'earin' them be wrong. Fork's fine," he reaches out until he brushes a hand on it. The smell gets him a bit excited and he nearly sits up too fast. Fuck this concussion. "Thank you."

"Cold out?" of course it is. He just wants conversation. He's relying only on his ears now, especially since he keeps missing his mouth and having race accidentally getting snorted up his nose with how close he has to hold the container. What a mess.

"Freezing. I miss summer. Living up here sucks. But there's so much work to get up here, and we've developed such a big list of contacts that it doesn't seem worth it to move. Start over. I know we'll probably have to at some point, won't we?" He takes another bite and absently glances to Mick, feeling a bit more comfortable now, at least for the moment.

It's clear that he's going to tread cautiously for a long time, even if he's forgiven. He's doing all that he can, which doesn't amount to much.

"Moving sounds like a lot of work at this point."

"If we get enough face, yeah we'll 'ave to go. Can't say I'll miss the place but constant work? Fuck," Ethan's right. Moving would be a hassle. And he's spent too much on this damn flat. "Be nice if we got someone who could give us more work and spread us out. But that's not going to be soon when my people 'aven't contacted me in a month and you just kinda get what you can."

He's picking at his food, still too out of it to eat himself to deal, but it's something. Water helps too since he was so dehydrated. That's going to be something he'll have to be constantly conscious of. "Do we even 'ave a fallback? If we 'ave to leave Detroit?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm mobile. I've burned some places but there's a whole map to go to, and I can't destroy it all in my lifetime. Hell, we could even ditch the states, go down to South America. I don't know any Spanish but I get by down there. I...can't see you fitting into that life comfortably, though. I don't want to make you follow me down there. It's dangerous even for me." He thought ahead on that one, and he clearly saw it smart to retract what he said before. Good for him.

"I figured we could find somewhere quiet for a little while and then find a better base of operations. Maybe we could plan. Where have you always wanted to go? Maybe down south?"

"South is a good idea. Change my name finally, use the Southern accent, charm my way out of shit. Though we're not settlin' for Florida mind. Place is like hell on Earth y'know."

Really, he could go for some quiet place. The idea of a fucking farm gets a snort. Wouldn't that be hilarious? "South America could work too. I can take of of myself, y'know. Probably a good idea. Europe's probably out of the question, eh? Last thing we need is to get caught over there and 'ave my sister 'ear about it. We'll figure it out eventually. Just know wherever you go, I can follow."

"You'd...really want to go that far? Wow. I'm..." Flattered? Amazed? Surprised? Probably all of it. "I'd follow you to Antarctica, honestly. I fucking love you, alright?" He's confirming it, again, for what feels like the thousandth time. "You wanted to get a farm? I'd learn how to use a tractor. We'd be like that couple in the painting. That one with the pitchfork." He's teasing now, obviously, and it's clear in his voice.

"I don't know much about concussions. I've never had one. But, uh...I'll do what I can, if you tell me what it is." He's clearly futzing up his conversation, trying to discuss anything but the details of what went down.

"Don't get too excited. Wait 'till we're like, sixty or somethin'," what he wouldn't give to see his face right now. Probably all adorable and...wow. "I love you too. Why I've been 'ere. I hate Detroit. But I 'ave my reasons for staying."

The reply on his concussion gets a sigh. "I 'ad one grownin' up. Got it falling off the water tower. Landed head first, Nan never let me 'ear the end of it. All I need is rest. Maybe a few days worst, stay hydrated, usual shit. Maybe some liquid Tylenol. Don't give me math. Stuff like that. As much as I'll hate it you'll 'ave to keep me from movin' too much."

"I'm shit at that. I'm so active it's going to be hard for me, but I can play body pillow if you want. If there's a channel you want on, I guess I can change that for you, at least. I know you hate those shows." That's not very descriptive, and Mick can't even see him pointing to the TV. It can probably be inferred what he means, though. He's not always the smartest man on earth, but he means well and when he loves, he loves passionately. That has to be what maters, right?

Ethan grabs the remote and switches to BBC, a number he now has memorized since it's about all Mick will accept. He has his own quirks, too. Mick puts up with them, so it's the least he can do.

"You don't 'ave to be with me all the time, love. I know 'ow you are. But jus' keep me from gettin' bored at least. I should be fine in a few days."

He's so damn casual, and really, food and water seems to have gotten him over being pissed about this. Really he couldn't have yelled at Ethan if he wanted to. At least the change in conversation seemed to help. "I could use that body pillow, actually. Unless you've got your errands to run."

What errands did Ethan even have? Mick usually took care of everything.

"Later tonight I've got a job to do. Nothing big, just solo. Harassing some punks, getting their dealers aware I'm onto them. From there we'll have a job, but I've got to do some things you're not so down for and I'd rather you not have to try and keep up...even if you could see. Just like how you wouldn't hand me your rifle." He snickers and settles back beside Mick now, waiting on the other to finish. When he does, he'll clear everything away. For now, he just munches happily.

"I've got nothing to do. I can stay here for now."

"knowin' me I'll get sick just trying to move. I'm tired of bein' sick and tired of bein' fucked up. Eventually this is gonna change. Whatever you're doing, I 'ave faith in it," there's a frown before Ethan's offered the last of Mick's fried rice. Still cant bother himself to eat anything it seems. At least something's in his system.

"Scare the shit out of em for me. I'll just stay 'ere. Alone. Blind. Bored."

His attempts to guilt Ethan into not leaving tonight probably aren't going to work. Can't fault the man for trying. "Whatever, I wanna work when I get off this rut. Start doin' somethin'. I 'ate being stationary. Makes me paranoid, y'know? From sittin' still. gets you all riled up."

Ethan accepts it and chows down no pause and no problem. He's not wasting time dealing with that. He's going to damn well enjoy what he's got, no matter what it is. Food is food is food is good, unless it's rotten eggs cracking open in the fridge or spaghetti sauce left to rot in its can in the pantry god maybe the writer is bitter about roommates they're going to shut up now.

"You'll make it. This will be worth it, if it pans out. I promise. We'll have more work and a lot of money." He leans over to kiss Mick's forehead before he swings out of bed to take care of the trash and leftovers. He returns shortly after, softly sitting on the bed before drawing up on it with Mick.

Well no shit the other writer's roommates are piles of trash.

"I feel bad. This 'as to be boring, eh? I know 'ow you don't like being stuck," but really what can Mick do about it? At least Ethan's not freaking out anymore. But the thought of it gives him a bit of an idea. Though it's going to sound stupid. "Maybe we can find someone who can fix you up, eh? grease you or something, I dunno. I jus' hate the thought of you gettin' hurt again. Especially when I can't 'elp. But s'like, I've got connections. I can do _something_."

It's obvious that this bothers him greatly. But he's leaving the choice to Ethan.

"Mick..." The name is soft and said with affection, but it holds connotations. _Oh, honey. It's such a nice thought, but..._ Something of the nature, and as can only be expressed by such words. "There's nobody left to patch me up. I was just the prototype. All of the doctors and scientists who had huge roles in doing it are dead now. I wasn't really...thinking about this happening. I wasn't expecting to live at all. I just...I killed them. They're gone. And I'm outdated tech. Nobody can just cut me open and fix it. I can't be unwired from them. It would kill me. Fast or slow, I don't know, but I'd be paralyzed. And all it takes it one wrong move, the SMALLEST one, and I'd end up like that anyway. It's...scary. And dangerous, and..."

There's nobody who can fix him. There's nobody who would help him, either, within the government. And that petrifies him.

"Sorry. I just..." wow, could Mick sound any more down? He literally sounds like Ethan just punched him in the gut. "I wanted to make a suggestion at least. But knowin' it's not an option jus'..."

 _Just makes me feel like shit I can't do anything when I know what's going to happen_.

"I jus' wanted to know if there were options. It makes what to do a lot easier," what does he mean by that? "I guess we'll just hang on to what we can eh? Wotever 'appens we can 'andle it. We'll learn from this, figure stuff out. There's always gonna be that faith, y'know."

"Yeah. If that's all we've got then we'll stick with it. I'm not very good with faith, though. Never have had a religion." He doesn't know much about one, either. He snuggles in beside Mick to rest for a while, and hours tick by until he's got to leave for his job. He excuses himself with a light kiss to the cheek before he pulls back and slips out to do his job.

It sets up well. He scares the gangs he planned to, takes down the small-time thugs he promised he would, and sets up for the big hit. He returns home to Mick at early hours of the morning, slipping into bed after showering and falling asleep after shrugging on a pair of sweatpants.

1

 


End file.
